


The Way We Used To Love

by Zzzara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Potter, Break Up, Draco Malfoy Being Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Being an Asshole, Draco Malfoy plays Piano, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Being an Asshole, Harry Potter Being an Idiot, Hopeful Ending, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jealous Harry Potter, Jealousy, M/M, Magical House, Memories, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Past Relationship(s), Piano, Pining, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Harry Potter, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Requited Unrequited Love, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Sirius Black's Flying Motorbike, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Unhealthy Relationships, sentient house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22649731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zzzara/pseuds/Zzzara
Summary: Is there hope when what is not enough for the one happens to be too much for the other?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 38
Kudos: 177
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	The Way We Used To Love

**Author's Note:**

> This work is based on the song ["Used to Love"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEh9F67Z5n8) by Martin Garrix & Dean Lewis.  
> The direct lines from the song are highlighted in bold.
> 
> My gratitude to my lovely beta [M0stlyVoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid)  
> for your thorough and quick check-up and for your precise, spot-on remarks that made all the difference. Thank you! <3
> 
> Many thanks to the mods of this fest for the work and enthusiasm they put into this event!
> 
> *Disclaimer: all characters except OC belong to J.K. Rowling and other rightful owners.*
> 
> *The author of this work does not support J.K. Rowling's transphobic opinions.

**The Way We Used to Love**

_**Walking through the door of this old and lonely place that used to feel like us**_ _,_ I will flinch at the sound of it snapping shut - too loud in the empty air, too painful a reminder of everything this house is now devoid of.

Uncertainly, like a guest - a stranger - I will walk through the gloomy entrance hall and look around: the grand staircase, the living room, the heavy wooden library door, the stone steps to the kitchen in the basement… It will feel as though this year hasn't happened, as though I never left, as though you may throw the library door open any moment to meet me with that easy smile of yours - _'Hey, Potter.'_

As though I'm not alone.

~

The lamplight would illuminate your hair golden.

"Who the hell does Robards think he is?" Your arm would snake around my lower back, pulling me close. 

"He's got your days and nights, too." Your lips would ghost just above my ear. "Is there anything you’re not telling me?"

Full of mirth, your eyes would be hiding wariness, fatigue lurking in the corners. "Pray tell me, what kind of _a mission_ you've been up to?" 

You'd squeeze me around the middle, making my heart blossom with guilty warmth. You've been up, you've been worrying. You've come to my house to sit in the library through the night, _waiting_. Waiting for me. You cared. You'd never admit it out loud, but I would know.

"Oh, fuck off!" I'd laugh and poke you in the stomach. "I'm tired. It's the middle of the night."

"This is what I'm talking about," you'd murmur into my neck. "Robards is allowed to have you in the middle of the night, while I am not."

"Robards doesn't _have_ me… and you're _allowed to."_ I'd whisper tiredly, my lips a brush away from yours. "It's been a hell of a night. Take me to bed."

You'd take me to bed.

That would be one of those moments - I'd think, drifting into sleep in your arms - one of those rare glimpses that would become so precious to me; one of **_the only things that made me feel like I was worth the love._** Like your love was even there. 

I would love those nights. Your worried eyes and fake light-hearted jokes. A little bit too tight a grip of your arm around my chest. I would cherish them and hold them close to my heart. Soon, I would try to make them happen more often. Soon, I would cease feeling guilty about it.

~

The living-room door will creak on its hinges, letting me inside like a wary host. _Well, come in… but don't make yourself at home. You are not welcome._ Afternoon light will make my eyes water after the dark hallway. Dust will swirl in the air over the piano as I open the lid. Silently sliding my fingertips over the keys, I won't be able to hold the memories back.

~

You would make the old piano feel young again - careless and vibrant - brimming with joy of your touch.

"Listen," you'd say with your eyes closed as you sway to the music, "isn't that beautiful?" Melody spilling from your fingertips.

"Yes," I would reply. "Beautiful." Watching you. I was always watching.

"Stop staring." With your eyes closed, you always knew. "Close your eyes and listen."

I would close my eyes and listen, your bright image in the window light still etched under my eyelids.

Bright. This house was bright with your presence. It only ever felt like home when you were here. It only took you stepping out of the fireplace, and the huge chandelier would flare to life in the living room. Its glow turning warm and welcoming, it would no longer seem tacky or ugly or too old. When you were here, the house was never gloomy, never hostile. It brimmed with life and sighed happily and stood proud.

"Don't be ridiculous," you rolled your eyes when I asked you, could it be possible that the house liked you?

But then again, how would you know? You never saw the side it exposed when I was alone.

I knew it did. It loved you. Probably because you were related to the Black family, or maybe because you played the piano, or for any other mysterious reason, your presence brought the house to life. It never particularly cared for me, and once you were gone for good, I wouldn't be able to stay here alone.

"If he can play so beautifully, he probably can't be that bad," Molly had told me once. 

I shrugged and nodded and looked at her in embarrassment. What was there to say?

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" You hissed to my face as soon as we left the Weasleys.

"What?" I knew right away, of course. But if there was a way to handle that and not fuck it up - I wouldn't know.

"You were just thrilled she didn't outright kick me out, yeah?" You shrugged my hand off your shoulder. "Nothing could be wrong even though she denied me even the most basic respect."

"That's not--" It sounded weak. I knew I couldn't deny the truth in your words, and you knew that I knew. 

I wanted to catch your hand in mine, but you recoiled.

"Fuck off! _"_

You wouldn't show up for a couple of weeks, until one night you just walked into my bedroom, undressed without words, crawled under the blanket and kissed me or bit me - I let you.

You fucked me furiously into the mattress, the weight of your body on my back holding me down. I let you.

I wanted to slip my hand under my belly, but you grabbed it, pressing it into the pillow, leaving me frustrated and needy and trapped. Until I came untouched, my cock rubbing helplessly against the sheets. 

"Look, I'm sorry," I whispered, still floating in a haze.

"Oh, shut up." You turned your back to me, hogging the blanket. "Let me sleep."

Wary of scaring you off, I let you sleep. You stayed. We never mentioned it again. I would decline Molly's invitations ever since.

~

My heart will skip at the sight of the open book under the coffee table. Slowly, I will approach and pick it up. I won't need to see the title to know that it is yours. The one you were reading before you left.

All the books lying around the house were yours. I never read books. 

~

"You don't like to read?" You asked me.

"I don't _don't like_ to read. I just don't read." I shrugged. "I never have time, and when I do, there are plenty of things far more fascinating than reading."

"What things, pray, tell me?"

"I don't know… Life?"

"Poor Potter." You rolled your eyes. "Okay, go live your life, let me read."

I didn't let you read. I don't know why, but your tone, a book in your hands, had suddenly pissed me off. You were _always_ reading, always so absorbed in something that wasn't _me_. I wanted to snatch that damned book out of your hands and make you angry, make you snap at me, or hit me, or kiss me, whatever. So I did. I grabbed the book and threw it on the floor. 

You flinched. "What are you doing?"

I wanted a kiss, but braced myself for a fight.

"Hi, I'm still here." I waved my hand in front of your face. 

You shoved it away and got on your feet. "What _the fuck_ do you think you're doing, Potter?"

"Well… I don't know, maybe trying to get your attention?" I grinned. "To compete with some stupid piece of paper?" I kicked the book pettily with my foot, sending it under the coffee table.

"For fuck's sake." Your face was stony, a red spot blossoming on your cheekbone. _Good,_ I thought, you were not as calm as you pretended to be. You only ever blushed when something got to your guts. 

"Are you looking for a fight, Potter?"

That _'Potter'_ pissed me off. 

"I don't know, maybe?" I crowded into your personal space.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You pushed into my chest, making me step back.

"Oh, nothing's wrong." Turning away, I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "Except that you prefer to spend your time with your books rather than me every time you’re here."

"For fuck's sake!" you growled. "Would you just let me breathe? Everyone wants something from me at work. And then my mother wouldn't stop… it doesn't matter. Can I have a moment of peace at home?"

"Can't you have it with me?" I threw over my shoulder. "Not with your fucking books. Why the hell even come here if you ignore me in my own house?"

You didn't reply, and the silence stretched on, making me turn and look at you. There was this brief stricken expression on your face, but it was gone before I even realised it was there. Your face set, you nodded and headed to the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked your back.

"You're right. Why the hell do I even come here? To _your house."_

You banged the door on your way out, and instantly the house felt sad and hollow. It hated me.

Irritable and restless, unable to sleep that night, I went out in a foul mood. On and on, I walked the streets, until my feet brought me to the familiar club. I ordered a drink, and another, and the third one shortly after. It didn't help. Aimlessly, my eyes scanned the crowd until with a start I spotted you. The sight made me choke with anger.

You were laughing. _Laughing._ As though nothing had happened, as though we didn't fight, as though you didn't bang the door, as though I wasn't mad at you. Laughing at the arm of a tall stranger. I was halfway across the club before I knew it.

You looked up. "Potter?" You smile faltered and then flickered back again.

"Hi," said the stranger, measuring me up and down.

I glared. The man shifted uncomfortably and looked at you.

"Wow, won't you introduce us, Draco?" Someone said to my left.

I turned and realised it wasn't just you and the man. It was a group you were hanging out with.

"Jaime." One of them offered his hand. I didn't take it. It hovered in the air and finally dropped.

"Nice to meet you, too," said the woman with a beer bottle in her hand. All eyes were on me.

"Guys, this is Potter," you said flatly, releasing the man's arm.

"We figured," someone supplied, causing the giggles scatter among them.

Murdering you with my gaze, I ignored them all.

"Potter, this is Jaime, Natasha." You pointed at the woman with a pettiness in your tone that made me want to strangle you. "Alex, Tom, Johnathan - my coworkers. And this is Caleb." You finally nodded at the tall man.

My hand clenched. If I hit you, would you remember my name in front of your friends? "My name is _Harry._ I need to talk to you."

"I don't need to talk to you," you shrugged. 

I didn't want to make a scene. Fuck, I was already making it. Stepping forward, I grabbed your sleeve. "Come on."

You glared but didn't move.

"Is there a problem?" Caleb asked. "Draco?"

"No, it's fine." You threw my hand off. "Sorry, guys, we need to sort something out. Be back in a minute."

You brushed past me, making your way through the crowd. I followed. Not looking back, you pushed angrily between people on your way. You didn't stop at the bar or turn to the bathrooms, you went on and on across the club, until we were outside, where you finally whirled around under the streetlamp.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Your face was murderous. "Embarrassing me like this in front of my friends."

"Friends? Caleb seems a bit more than a _friend,_ don't you think?" I hissed, taking a step towards you. "Who is he?"

"None of your business." You made a face. "What do you want?"

"What do I...?" I choked on my anger. "None of my _business_?" I crowded you, until your back pressed into the lamppost.

"Get off me!" You pushed into my chest. "You don't own me. You can't just barge in and drag me out whenever you please."

I pushed you back. "No, I can. As long as you're my… and we're together, I can."

"What?..." You laughed in disbelief. "You really think… I'm fed up, Potter. I'm _sick_ of it. If that's your idea of _together,_ then we're not together. Let me fucking _breathe_. You don't own me," you repeated, trying to step around, but I grabbed your shoulder. 

For a moment, we stared at each other. You tried to throw my hand off. I dug my thumb into your collarbone and didn't let go.

"Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone." You measured your words.

For me it was like a red cloth for a bull. I firmed my grip, making you wince. I hated you. I hated you at that moment. I wanted to harm you, to cause you pain, to make you scream - for all the things you were doing to me with your escapade. For all your indifference, your fucking independence be damned. For all the things you were withholding. For everything you didn't want from me. 

In the deadly yellow light of the streetlamp, your eyes were dark. Staring you down, I shook my head.

Your punch in the gut made me double over, releasing my grip on you. You shoved me, hard, so that I stumbled back and landed sprawled on the pavement, suddenly realising how drunk I had gotten when the street lights started spinning before my eyes.

Leaving me on the street, you headed back to the club.

I didn't remember how I got home that night. Finding myself alone in my bed, the only thing I knew was that I was crying, and the house brooded around me.

"Oh, shut up!" I said loudly into the dark room, then hugged the pillow and wept under the assault of memories.

Sometimes when I returned from a mission, we would lie in bed face-to-face, **_talking through the night._** On those nights you always came, **_were always there._ _And into the dawn, I'd do my best to try and find some sleep, but you'd still keep me up._** You would straddle me and kiss every inch of my skin and slide your palms up my chest. You'd ride me with excruciating slowness, rocking, rocking until I saw stars.

"Tired, Potter?" You'd huff into my neck, lowering yourself down on top of me after you came.

"You wish," I'd reply, squeezing your arse, already getting myself ready for another round.

That was at the beginning. When you stayed almost every night. Before little things started creeping in between us. Before we started to fight. And even after. You always came back. 

That night after the club, lying alone in my bed, I knew this time you wouldn't. I knew I would never see you again. 

I was right.

I closed my eyes, remembering our first time so vividly in that very room: I apparated us from the middle of the dance floor, right onto my bed. You called me a show-off, already ripping my shirt away. I didn't argue. I wrenched at your belt, making you topple over, vanishing our clothes.

"Show off," you repeated when my wordless spell made my fingers drip with lube. 

I didn't argue. For the first time, I didn't. My fingers slipped between your arse cheeks, finding their way into your body, loosening you, slickening you up. 

You didn't argue. For the first time, you didn't. You let me. "Fuck, Potter," was all you had to say.

For the first time, we didn't fight when our bodies collided - and yet, we very much did. 

"Fucking stay still, will you?" You dug your fingers into my shoulders, adjusting yourself on my cock. _"Fuck."_

"That's the idea."

"Oh - _ahhh_ \- shut up." You gripped the headboard and rotated your pelvis. "Fucking big you are."

"Is it a compliment?" My laugh faltered. You were so impossibly tight, I didn't know how I would last.

"No. It's an… uncomfortable fact." You moved, your cock bounced in front of you. 

I wrapped my hand around it. "Are you complaining or what?"

"Fuck you." You closed your eyes, gaining a slow, steady rhythm.

"Fuck _you."_ I replied, stroking you along with your movements.

"Are you okay?" I asked when your expression turned pained. 

You only shook your head, and I couldn't tell whether it was 'yes' or 'no'.

"I'm gonna…" I gasped… and came.

"You bastard." You batted my hand away and gripped your cock, wanking yourself roughly. 

"Fucking bastard." You bend down and captured my lips, moving, moving all the while, until you came with a stifled cry.

"Did I hurt you?" I asked when we lay tangled atop the duvet.

"Do you care?" You hooked your calf around mine.

"Well, I… do? You said I'm big."

"Don't flatter yourself," you scoffed, but your lips pressed to my shoulder. "I'm good. Probably will have a problem walking in the morning. But it's a small price to pay for the honour of having the Saviour's golden dick."

"Don't be an arsehole." I shoved you in the chest, making you sprawl on your back.

"Okay, anyway… I need to go." You sat up.

I touched your arm. "Where?"

What I really meant was _'why?'_ and _'stay'_ and _'I don't want you to go. Stay as long as you want. Don't you want to? I need you to stay.'_ I couldn't tell you what I really meant, could I?

"Home. I can't stay here for the night."

"Why not?" My fingers traced the line down your forearm, to the inside of your wrist. _'I want to wake up with you'_ was what I really meant.

You shrugged and looked down at me… the brooding longing in my veins turned into joy. If you wanted to leave, you would have already done so.

"No, really, Malfoy. Stay." I tugged at your arm, pulling you to lie back down next to me. 

It was different now, certainty made me bold. I cradled your face and kissed you, long and lingering, trying to tell you everything I withheld with words. I knew you wouldn't be going anywhere.

You stayed.

You stayed ever since, more often than not. 

"Don't get used to it, Potter," you used to say. But stayed anyway.

I got used to it. Got used so that when you were suddenly not there, it felt as though I disappeared, too. As though you took me away with you, once you had left.

I wouldn't be able to get used to your absence, to the silence of this damned place that had turned hateful as soon as you walked away.

~

I will approach the piano again, the image of your fingers before my eyes - strong and delicate - their caress evoking languid sounds from the ancient instrument. The image of your tranquil face, your closed eyes and a ghost of a smile blossoming on your lips will forever stay in my memory.

~

The first time I heard you play, I _knew._ I was fucked. There were no doubts left.

I may have still doubted it when you grinned at me at the Ministry function, the tip of your cigarette glowing as you took a drag.

"Bored, Potter?"

I shrugged and nodded, still determined not to acknowledge butterflies in my stomach as I watched your profile in the mellow light of the candles hovering in the air over the terrace. "I don't like these events. Everyone is so stuck-up."

Tilting your chin up, you exhaled the stream of smoke into the golden air. "Wanna escape?"

"Yes."

This was all it took.

You threw the cigarette butt away, I downed the contents of my glass.

"Come on." You gripped the stone parapet and, to my astonishment, jumped over it, landing on the gravel path beneath.

I didn't need to be told twice. I put the empty glass down on the parapet, grabbed its edge and jumped over, landing at your feet on my outstretched palms. The pain of the gravel bite sent needles through my skin. Fuck. I was drunker than you.

"Alright, Potter?" Your hand swam into view and, surprising myself, I reached for it, letting you pull me up.

"Yeah." I hastily dropped your hand to dust my trousers off.

"Let's go, then. Where is it?"

"What?"

"Your ugly vehicle."

"The what?"

"Come on, you can't possibly be _that_ drunk. You arrived on it, surely you intended to ride it back home."

"My motorbike?"

"No. _My_ motorbike." You rolled your eyes. "Where is it?"

I led you around the building and into the garden.

"Here it is." I gestured with my hand, revealing the thing parked under the tree. "But I'm a bit drunk for that right now, I don't think--"

"I haven't had a single drink." You approached the motorbike, it gleamed in the moonlight. "No problem."

"Malfoy, do you really think that--"

 _"Yes."_ You touched the glistening handle, ran your fingertips along the worn leather of the seat. The touch echoed in my guts. Raised goosebumps over my skin. I swallowed.

"No. No way." I came up and put my hand on the motorbike, because what the fuck? You absolutely weren't going to...

"Oh, come on." In one swift movement, you straddled it. "For once, Potter, I'm _asking_ you to show off. Show me how it's done."

"Are you fucking insane?!" With a grunt, I got myself seated behind you. "Have you ever ridden such a thing before?"

You gripped the handles. "No. Among all the things I've _ridden_ , this is not one of them." You shifted in the seat, pressing your arse right back into the bulge in my trousers. You were infuriating. Your presence always riled me up, but this time it wasn't a fight that I wanted. Not at all. I moved to put my hands over yours on the handles, but you slapped them away.

"What do I do?"

"You just… Where do I put my hands?" I asked, frustrated.

"Wring them… stuff them in your pockets for all I care."

I placed them on my thighs. "You just need a bit of magic." Your hair brushed my nose. " _My_ magic. Like this."

I reached around you again to touch the handles with my fingertips, and the motorbike rumbled alive.

"Just be careful with your feet--" 

Too late. Under the pressure of your heel on the pedal, the thing launched forward with a roar, and my hands gripped you around the middle.

"Unhand me, Potter!" You raised your voice over the engine, sending the gravel flying from under the tyres.

"Fuck you!" I shouted and only gripped you tighter when we kicked off the ground, soaring above the trees. "You're gonna kill us!"

"Scared?!" Was your reply over the wind.

"You wish," I hissed right into your ear. 

You said no more, steering the motorbike higher into the night skies. I guess, I felt your smile with my ear pressed to the side of your face.

"Where are we going, Potter?"

"I don't know! Where are we going? It was your idea!"

We flew over the country roads, over the villages scattered in the valley, on and on, until I recognised the outline of night London ahead. 

"To the left now," I said as soon as we flew over the familiar streets. "Slow down."

You didn't ask me where we were heading.

We hovered in place as I dismantled the wards over Grimmauld, letting us land in the back garden.

"I know this house," you said, as soon as we emerged into the hall through the kitchen staircase from the basement. 

"Do you?" 

"Yes, it's…" You looked around, turning the tip of your Lumos. "My mother grew up here."

I did know that, but somehow I didn't, and your words took me by surprise.

"Really? Did you spend time here when you were a kid?" I lit one of the wall lanterns with a spell.

"Not much." Slowly, you headed across the hall. "I see you have removed the house-elves' heads." You nodded towards the staircase.

"Yeah." I felt embarrassed for some reason.

"Good that you did. That tradition was awful, if you ask me." You approached the doors along the wall. "This is the library." You pointed to the right one. "And this is the living-room. It's damn dark in here."

When you took the door handle, an odd thing happened. At least I considered it odd at the moment. Later, I would get used to it. All the lanterns along the walls flared on, it seemed as though the house suddenly lost its gloominess. You opened the door, and the living room greeted us with it's huge ancient chandelier fully lit up with candles. The fireplace was merrily burning logs in the grate. 

"Wow," was all I could manage. I had lived there for years, but it felt as though I was seeing my own house for the first time.

We stepped inside.

"This house feels better without my Grandma's crazy family, you know," you threw over your shoulder, heading to the window.

At your approach, the old piano carefully opened its lid in invitation.

"Ah…" Your laugh was genuine when you sat down, putting your fingertips on the keys. 

I caught myself staring a bit too hard, a bit too long.

Next moment, your fingers touched the keys, evoking a haunting, delicate melody I had no idea this piano was capable of… I tried and found myself unable to look away.

That was when I _knew_.

The knowledge scared me. What if I would never be able to look away?

"You're staring," you said, not looking up from the piano. For the very first time of so many times, in so many moments like that.

"You're staring," you would mumble, feeling my eyes on you in the first light of dawn.

"Why are you always staring?" you would ask me, sliding your fingers over the keys. "You'd better listen."

 _"Because I always feel like I won't get another chance,"_ I would never say to you. It would feel like putting too much power in your hands. I was not _that_ insane. No.

"Stop staring," you would mutter, passing me in the Ministry, your eyes full of mischief.

 _"Stop staring."_ Annoyance would lace your words later. You would just get up and leave the room.

All that would come later.

"Leave me alone, let me fucking breathe!" You would shout, your face livid in the street lights behind the club. That would be the last I saw of you.

Unable to bear my damned house in your absence, I would grasp the Ministry offer of working abroad for a year and flee.

"You don't own me!" How many times would I hear your voice in my dream?

I never owned you, I never did. But oh, did I wish to.

 _"Here I am, take everything! Do what you want!"_ How many times did I restrain myself from saying?

You never wanted _everything_ . At least, not the _everything_ I was dying to give you.

"You are too much, Potter," you would tell me. "Giving too much, demanding too much." You would brush my hair off my forehead. "I don't think I'm enough for you, or will ever be."

 _"Oh, you are. You are!"_ I wouldn't scream. _"You will be. If only you let me. Let me give you everything you don't want. You only need to ask."_

You never did.

~

I will touch a key on the piano, pressing it gently with a lonely sound. And another one. It will feel as though the air shifts, the house around me giving a sigh - of tenderness and longing. I will press another key, listening to the lonely note ringing high in my empty heart - a reminder that _**you will never be left behind, you are still running through my blood**_ _._ The lantern will light up on the wall, and the door will creak on its hinges, its sound making me finally turn my head…

...and see you standing in the doorway.

My breath catching in my throat, at first I will think it's the house, playing tricks with me. But then you will step inside, quietly closing the door behind you.

That's when I will realise you are real. My heart will explode.

 _"I thought I would never see you again,"_ I will stop myself from saying.

Instead, I will stare. Stare at your face that will not have changed in a year at all. Stare at the dark blue woolen scarf around your neck - the one that I gave you, the one that had once belonged to me. You'll still be wearing it.

Your fingers aimlessly tracing the doorframe, you’ll stare back. There will be so much to say, but I won't know how to talk to you anymore.

"I just…" you will finally begin and trail off, your voice scratchy as though from disuse. "I just heard you've returned, so…"

"Who told you?" I will ask, because no one will know about my arrival.

Your hand still resting on the doorframe, you will shrug. "No one, I just… knew." 

"How?"

"I don't know… the house."

"The house?" I will finally bring my breath under control.

"Yes, I felt the wards have been triggered."

"The wards?" I will carefully close the lid and step away from the piano.

"Yes, the wards--"

"Why are you here?" I will cut you off. _Too harshly, maybe,_ I will think.

Saying nothing, you will frown and look away. I will wait and wait, but you will say nothing, your fingers restlessly tapping the wood. Until you’ll shake your head, pushing yourself off the doorframe, and finally meet my eyes. Without words, you will come up and stand before me, right here within my reach.

My hand will reach out… and drop useless, a mere inch from yours. 

I would launch forward and crush your lips until we both tasted blood. I would crowd you until your back hit the wall. I would clutch at you until you gasped for air, I would rip your clothes off and…

I would claim you until you screamed.

A year ago.

A year ago, I would.

Not now.

Not daring to touch you, I will wait. We will both wait for your decision. Until you'll wince and make that tiny last step forward, wrapping your palms around my neck. Your lips will ghost over mine as you'll press our foreheads together but still won't kiss me. Instead, your arms will slip down over my shoulders until they lock around my back in a desperate grip. Only then will I finally allow myself to return your embrace. I will bury my face into your neck, just above the softness of your scarf and inhale, mad with memories and longing. I will dig my fingers into the coarse fabric of the coat on your back, savouring the feeling of your hard body under my palms.

"I missed you," you will say into the side of my face, your lips soft against my stubble. "But I can't… ** _we_ _can't go back to the way we used to_ _…"_**

"No." I will firm my grip around you. "But… we can try and find a new way to…"

"Yes." You will nod. "We can try."

I will finally nudge your temple with my nose, making you turn your face and look at me. This close, your eyes will be huge and dark.

"May I kiss you?" 

"Yes," you will reply.

It will seem an eternity will pass… and when our lips finally meet in the lightest of kisses, the fireplace behind us will flare to life, lighting this old house up with the hope of its golden glow.

~~~ The End ~~~

**_I am on Tumblr:[@big-draco-energy](https://big-draco-energy.tumblr.com/)_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

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